


it was always me & you either way

by piecesofgold (orphan_account)



Category: Hailee Steinfeld (Musician), Niall Horan (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 16:01:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/piecesofgold
Summary: eleven years.





	it was always me & you either way

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i have no idea lads. i don’t even like niall anymore yet my brain conjured this up ?? bc i’m still a wreck over nailee even now ??
> 
> title: kelsea ballerini - legends

it’s a beer-and-tequila infused hook-up, running on highs of an award won and nailed performances. she locks her legs around his waist and gasps as he fucks her, hands roaming over her, fingertips pressing into her skin like he wants to imprint himself over every part of her body.

it feels like freefalling, when he kisses her neck the next morning, all the tension draining.

—

it’s good. it’s almost too good to be true. like every single thing has slotted into place perfectly and she’s happier than she’s been in what feels like forever despite the entire whirlwind her life is. they’re saps, he calls her at all hours of the night sounding like he’s about to cry and she teases him mercilessly just to hear him laugh until she quietly says she misses him too.

maybe it was the whirlwind that made them work.

—

they’re at a golf tournament, she’s drunk and unsteady, there’s a lot of people and it’s hot and loud and her throat is dry -

a hand slips under her shirt and she knows without turning its him, relaxing against him instantly.

he takes her home, pulls her shoes off as she giggles. _you’re hopeless, steinfeld_ , he says, kisses her, pulls the comforter over her.

 _you love me anyway_ , she thinks she murmurs. she doesn’t feel him freeze before she’s asleep.

—

it’s not enough, it turns out.

it’s a bad breakup, a few weeks after his tour ends. she screams herself hoarse and he hardly says anything before she clears out her drawer in his house and leaves.

and then there’s barely any time to grieve her broken heart because she has work, work, work. she invites julia over and cries into a tub of mint chip, locks herself in the studio and pours her heart across notebooks.

—

it’s not the first time they see each other afterwards but it’s the one that leaves the worst sour taste in her mouth.

the grammy’s after party, she doesn’t stay long but he sees her anyway, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to run her fingers through his hair when he smiles at her cautiously and offers to get her a drink. she declines, and it only hurts a little walking away.

—

her album peaks in the top ten, which is so much better than she hoped for. she avoids questions about who the songs were written for, though everyone pretty much knows.

she has to dodge questions about his album being about her, too.

—

this guy is sweet. sweet and good and everything she needs and detached enough from the public eye that she trusts him enough to be seen out with him. his hair is sandy blond and his eyes are blue and they crinkle at the sides when he laughs.

her parents love him, her friends adore him, everyone online gush over them the first time they walk the red carpet together for her latest movie (it’s a smash, rumours of academy awards already springing up that she tries desperately not to hope for). everyone loves him and he loves her and she feels enough like she should that she forces herself to forget the other pair of blue eyes that haven’t left her alone the last two years.

—

they don’t see one another very often, over the years, despite the mutuals group of friends they share. by the time she’s twenty-six she doesn’t recall the last time they were even in the same room that wasn’t an award show.

—

she hears about the wedding through julia - still with her, even now - who talks about it freely knowing, thinking he’s of no importance to her anymore. private, in ireland, it was. no press, quiet.

she smiles, surprised by how much it doesn’t hurt to hear that.

—

 _happy birthday_ , he texts her at midnight exactly, every single year. she wonders why she hasn’t deleted his number. why he hasn’t deleted hers.

she deletes the text and rolls over, wraps her arms around the warm body next to her.

—

she’s twenty-eight and her engagement is splashed across every media site she comes across.

for the first time in years, she feels _secure_. she’s happy, she’s in love, her career’s on a high. like puzzle pieces falling into place again.

—

she thinks, what a cruel irony it would be here, after all this time.

she’s thirty-three. it’s early, much earlier than she’s usually gets up, sun barely up in the sky and streets mostly empty. it isn’t uncommon for her to be up and about like this lately, though. she has trouble sleeping in these days, still getting used to an empty bed, an empty ring-finger.

her daughter is staying with her father this weekend, leaving her mother alone in an empty house too big for one person. she’s bundled up, out to get a coffee, maybe wander the city for a while.

she orders a caramel latte, standing aside to wait. she pulls out her phone and texts her brother, knowing he wants to share his latest race results.

she hears him before she sees him.

he orders coffee, black, and her head violently snaps up at his voice, like her mind doesn't believe her ears. she hasn't heard him speak in so long.

he laughs at something the barista says, and she’s transported back to eleven years ago - has it really been that long? - like a day hasn’t passed since.

she shouldn’t be staring, but she can’t look away. he looks good, thirty-six and wearing it well, in blue jeans and tartan coat. hair longer, grown out more since the last picture she’d seen a month or two back. the last time she saw him in person, years ago, it was still chesnut brown. now, there’s unmistakeable grey streaks, much like her own.

he must feel eyes on him, because he turns his head and looks right at her across the room.

he doesn’t try to hide his shock, but a second later a soft smile stretches across his face as he walks over towards her.

(there’s laughter lines sunk into his eyes and they make him look as gorgeous as he did the first time she told him she loved him.)

the coffee shop is practically empty, no one around caring enough to know who they are. it’s strange, though, being in the same room as him and not feeling a sense of blind panic. no hushed whispers, no flashes, no eyes glancing their way. just them.

“of all the coffee shops in all of new york,” niall says quietly, smiling at her.

hailee can’t stop her own lips tugging into one back. it’s not surprising, somehow, that they’re able to comfortably fall back like this.

“black coffee, huh? thought you were a cream or tea guy?” she shoots back, arching an eyebrow. his cheek curves into a dimple.

“it’s too bloody cold for anything else,” he shrugs. his eyes are still as absurdly blue as she remembers. “it’s - really good to see you, hails.” (the nickname sends a jolt through her). “it’s been - god, _years_.”

hailee can bear the sincerity in his voice, wonders if he feels the same awe she does that they’re even standing in front of each other right now. “it’s good to see you, too. come, sit. how are you? how’s the family?” she rambling, a tell she’s anxious and she knows that he knows.

she knows about his divorce the same way he knows about hers. they’d been more or less a month apart.

“everyone’s good, yeah. i mean, it’s been a tough year but -“ he rubs over where his wedding ring used to be seemingly out of habit. “things are good now. and you? last i heard, you had a baby.” there’s a fond mocking in his voice that makes her heart tug. he’d sent a care package after amelie was born.

hailee instantly brightens. “yes, i did. she’s two now. and thank you, by the way, for what you sent. don’t think i ever said that.”

niall waves it off but he looks pleased. “she back at your place?”

“no, with her dad for the weekend.”

niall’s face falls in soft understanding, and something occurs to her then. “you didn’t - you never-“

“had kids?” he offers, smiles sadly. “nah. she didn’t want any. and i thought i was okay with that, until - that sounds awful, doesn’t it? not the only reason we divorced, mind. one of many.” he doesn’t elaborate and hailee doesn’t push.

“this isn’t how i saw a reunion going,” she laughs, looks out the window. “both of us, in our thirties, divorced sad sacks over coffee.”

niall’s chuckles. “straight out of a soap opera.” he pauses. “eleven years.”

hailee goes still. “eleven,” she echos. “crazy, right? and in this city, too.”

“ended at my old house, i believe. lots of shouting.”

“well, on my part. you not so much.”

niall smiles at her again. “we were fucking idiots.”

hailee laughs. “we were young. the whole thing was a mess.”

she catches his eyes then and knows he’s thinking the same thing she is - _do you ever wonder what would have had happened if it had worked out the first time around_?

niall’s looks down at his watch and swears under his breath. “listen - i’ve got to run to get to a meeting, but - you still have my number, right? yours hasn’t changed?”

her heart leaps and she tries not to let it show on her face. “hasn’t changed.”

there’s anxiety on his face now, and something close to hope. “i’m in the city for the rest of the week, if you wanted to, uh - catch up, maybe?”

and there it is. ball in her court. he’s expecting her to say no.

hailee nods. “i’d like that. why don’t -“ she hesitates for half a second. “come to dinner, my place, sometime this week. amelie would love to meet you.”

it’s like the sun breaks over niall’s face, he looks to happy. “i would love that.”

hailee smiles. “i’ll text you the address.”

she watches him leave the shop, tightens her coat as she prepares depart herself.

sunlight dances off puddles left on the sidewalk, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she allows hope to warm her.

**Author's Note:**

> i know it’s bad don’t yell at me


End file.
